Copping A Feeling
by thi3f
Summary: (Chapter Four is now up!) Don't play with fire or you'll be burned! A dangerous lesson for the X-men and the newest draftee. Reclusive, quiet Kenneth obviously just needs some time to adjust--right?
1. be my doll

In many places around the country, around the world, there were strange occurrences happening. People tripping down stairs discovered they could hover, children learned they could teleport from place to place and housewives communicated their shopping lists to late husbands working overtime through a simply directed thought. Mutants were springing up like a host of crocuses after a rainshower, and expanding the human race's rainbow of abilities.  
  
Most of these abilities, of course, were utterly useless and not strong enough to do anyone much good. The Army wasn't interested in the potential for shopping lists, and hovering a pencil for a moment or two wasn't high on anyone's list, really.  
  
So, for the most part, they were interesting quirks and additions to what basically was a whole and complete functioning mechanism. The human race didn't *need* modifications: it had become the master of planet Earth all by itself, thank you very much, hovering pencils or no.  
  
But every so often, every so where, a blip occurred on the radar that spoke of real, raw, untrained talent of greater magnitude.  
  
The shoes of the director were making a conspicuous amount of noise as they traveled down the cleanly buffed hallway of the county jail, the local sheriff at his side and his hand pressed tightly together behind his none- too-muscular back.  
  
"Jesus, Hal, this is no place to keep a kid." The cells as they passed were dark and dim, like toothless mouths gaping to swallow them all whole. Chilled air, too, circulated and swirled around their ankles as the two law- enforcers moved towards the last cell in the block.  
  
The sheriff, a gruff, grizzled man who tolerated no funny business, grunted. "This ain't no kid. Torched three o' m'men." Three of his best men simply by looking at them.  
  
The director had the sense to look surprised, even though he believed that the aging sheriff simply needed a vacation. A child not yet out of his teens slaying three well-armed and trained policemen? Preposterous! He sniffed lightly to himself, prepared to order the lock removed and the prisoner released. Obviously, a mistake had been made somewhere along the line.  
  
Squeak, squeak, the shoes stopped in unison on the other side of the bars from the shadowy shape that reclined in the furthest corner of the cell, well hidden from the light the bare light bulb in the corridor cast. Even the most basic of amenities that all prisoners got were missing here. A fold-out bed was metal and bare, no mattress, no blanket. The soap, the paper for the toilet, it was all removed, leaving the cell bleak and metallic. The figure shifted, rolling over onto its other side, away from the two men.  
  
The director turned to the other man beside him, lips tight and white, barely believing what he was seeing, voice lowered into a furious whisper. "This *child* is barely seventeen! Where is his mattress, sheriff? Where are the amenities a *boy* deserves?!"  
  
The sheriff was calm and placid in his answer, and casually slapped his veiny, wrinkled hand against the bars. "We gave 'em to 'im, Director. I think that bit of ash over there is them. He'd burn up the entire jail." Casual in the way he leaned over and spit on the floor by the polished leather shoe. "If we let 'im."  
  
The mutant in the jail cell hunched further forward, and stared into the darkness, green eyes shining in the darkness. He spoke not a word, not while the director talked at his back from between the bars and not while the sheriff threatened him with a loss of his dinner if he continued to be silent.  
  
Nothing can shake me. He thought, and wrapped the darkness around his shoulders like a blanket. The vocalizations of the two men faded to insignificance. I am a rock.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
"You!" A rattling at the bars of the boy's cell and he roused himself from sleep slowly, langourously, taking his damn sweet time as his tanned hand pushed the locks of blonde hair away from his eyes that narrowed at his newest visitors.  
  
At least they had smartened up a little this time.  
  
Full protective environmental suits used specifically for especially hot environments.  
  
"You're wearing vulcanologist suits." He noted aloud, leaning back against the bare cement wall on the bare metal slab for a bed. It didn't really matter. Ken was fairly certain that solid rock wouldn't stop him if he was serious enough. I'll have to test that one day. Blinked. "Pardon?"  
  
The team leader looked and sounded impatient, muffled as he was in the thick white suit. "I said get up and come with us."  
  
Ken pushed himself back against the wall. "Where are you taking me?" He had to know! I bet it's like those movies. They're gonna test me! Everyone knew what they did with dangerous mutants, or, at least, Kenneth had heard the stories about knocks on the door in the middle of the night and holding vats of strange green liquid. His shoes squeaked on the metal as he tried to burrow into the corner.  
  
"Come with us." The white, marshmellow suits were moving into the cell now and grasping his arms with grips that couldn't be denied. He struggled only weakly as they peeled him away from the wall where his flesh had burned permanent marks into the stone and frog-marched him down the spotless hallway.  
  
"No," he protested futilely. He was going to die, then. Just like that. He shrugged off the hand and walked proudly, alone down the hall and out through the main office, teeth nearly chattering from fright. Kenneth needed no hand to help him along. He'd done this, right? Killed helpless police officers. It doesn't matter that I didn't mean to, he repeated to himself. Mistakes are irrelevant. You fucked up. Accept it like a man.  
  
Outside. A truck waited, a truck used for transportation. On the side was a logo, hastily emblazoned and created when the explosions of new mutants had arrived. Department of Genetic Variants. The clam-shell doors opened and Kenneth was thrust inside.  
  
"Oof!" He landed on the floor and skid half a meter, pushed himself up onto his elbows. Obviously, they had been expecting him and his abiltities. Nothing flammable, nothing detachable, nothing that was soft. Everything was solid, metal and more metal. The truck started with a lurch, and the mutant began to panic.  
  
This isn't fair! He railed mentally, pacing back and forth unsteadily as the truck wound it's way through traffic he couldn't see. It had been an accident, a horrible accident! He hadn't meant to hurt anyone! His life was over!  
  
Bitterly, he sat down on the edge of the metal protrusion on the wall that he supposed was intended to work as a chair. Damn uncomfortable, though, as was everything in his life. "I couldn't have a blanket, though. I'd just wreck it." Like he had wrecked everything else with his talent.  
  
"Ungh!" He cried in frustration and struck his fist against the wall. Finished. With a strangled sob that he had never heard himself make before, the blonde sank down against the bench and held his head in his hands and shook.  
  
Sixteen and a menace to society.  
  
Sixteen and so freakish that even other mutants avoided him. That psychic girl they had brought in the night before, what had happened to her? Fire! she screamed after she tried to probe his mind. Fire! Nothing but fire!  
  
He bit his lip, worried.  
  
Tears edged at the corner of Ken's vision, tears that wanted to overflow and express exactly what he was feeling, but angrily he swiped the moisture out of his eyes, watched the drops touch his skin and evaporate into less than nothing in a heart's beat.  
  
"Stop your whimpering!"  
  
Father. Yes, Father, I'm sorry, Father.  
  
"Crying doesn't solve anything, boy. Shut up!"  
  
I'm sorry, Father, my heavy-handed father. Always so heavy-handed, Father.  
  
"Shut up!" He whispered viciously to himself. Grabbed his own skin and twisted, hard. "Shut up!" Had to stop the crying! Worthless, weak, pathetic, blubbering, useless crying! Shut up, shut up. . . His lips recited the mantra as he pinched, and the pain brought clarity. He had to escape.  
  
And all of a sudden, opportunity didn't just knock at the lanky youth's door, it stepped right through as if it weren't even there and offered him a whiter-than-white smile with a black-and-yellow body. "Need a hand?"  
  
Kenneth blinked, and gaped like a fish as Shadowcat appeared through the wall.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Shadowcat dusted her leotard off primly and glanced brown, rich eyes up at the boy. Hardly older than she was, and difficult to imagine his floppy hair and gently sloping hazel eyes ever narrowing with enough anger to kill someone. Was he going to speak, or just sit there on that bizarre metal bench and gape?  
  
She repeated the offer.  
  
"Y-Yeah," he stuttered, pushing himself up.  
  
Cute, in his own way. He looked half-Asian, maybe, which would explain the eyes and those distinct cheekbones. His entire body structure, she noted as he shakily stood up, every action trying to radiate confidence but only piquing his fear, was not quite Caucasian and not quite Asian.  
  
Stop messing around, Kitty. Jean Gray in her mind, giving her a mental nudge forward. Move now, the truck is almost at the containment facility.  
  
She nodded once and extended the hand. "I'll take you through the wall. Kenneth, right?" He nodded silently. "Take my hand, it'll be okay." The latest addition to Professor Xavier's band of mutants, a young firestarter named Ken. But he shook his head and took a step back, heels bumping against the wall of the truck.  
  
"No," She insisted, taking a step forward at him, extending the hand once more. Didn't she understand? If she knew his name, surely she was supposed to know something about him? "Don't touch me! You can't! Ah-Ah'll burn you." And he gestured to the wall where he had been sitting. Already, even through his shirt, wherever his flesh had touched the metal it had scalded a deep, rich black. Imagine what it would do to her hand!  
  
Jean! She called, trying to contact the psychic. What do I do?  
  
The answer was quick in coming, though the older mutant gave no other sign. With an abrupt shudder, the truck rolled to a stop. Through the front wall both mutants could hear the men in the suits yelling, shouting. A flash of red light and the back of the truck opened. Cyclops grinned at her, and gestured for them both to hurry up.  
  
She hopped down out of the truck and glanced back over her shoulder. Kenneth, the strange, quiet boy, was right behind her, mouth set in a determined line and eyes narrowed chillingly. Ah. She thought to herself, just as Nightcrawler bamfed into existence a mere three feet away and encouraged them on.  
  
His tail lashed anxiously from side to side, and his ears were almost flat against his head. "Come on, vill you? Ah, Gott in himmel, schnell!" [1]  
  
Ken shook his head disbelievingly, and dropped down from the empty truck onto the hard pavement. Downtown, they were downtown and heading for the military base. It seemed so utterly, perfetly normal that vertigo swept his senses for a moment. People were going to work today, people were going to school and doing everything. The sky was still blue and the sun still shone and the world still functioned, no matter what. Even if he were restrained for the rest of his life or used for a guinea pig. He blinked again, setting his jaw, and began to follow the others as they led him down and away from his premature prison.  
  
Fuck being a guinea pig, then. Kenneth the firestarter didn't dig on eating or being, swine.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
-_- So there you have it. Chapter one of Copping a Feeling.  
  
Argh, I know it's not that great, but.you know? *sigh* Anyways, if you liked it, review and I'll write more. If you hate my original character and want me to die. eh. That makes two of us. (Only I like Kenneth. *hugz him* :D )  
  
Yeah!  
  
Boku wa ichiban no furiiku desu yo.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
[1] God in heaven! Hurry! 


	2. mistakes that last

Soooo, here we are again with another installment of Copping A Feeling. This is a rather passive chapter, sort of a prequel to next time's, which shall include much bloodshed, I promise you. ^_^ I am nothing if not a bloodthirsty little beast. Standard disclaimer: X-Men: Evolution doesn't belong to me, yada, yada, yada.  
  
Now, while I was writing this, I was a little stressed and thinking about certain things. Don't all the powers in X-Men just represent us? I mean, think about it. What do you think of when someone says "She's fiery!" or "He's as cold as ice." Take the sayings, make them real. He's impassive, ruthless and logical: his power is ice! She's fiesty, rash and critical: her power is flame!  
  
So what would Scott's power be, Glare of Doom? *ducks as dozens of G-Wing fans chuck boots for stealing* I jest! I jest!  
  
Of course, not all are, you know, that obvious. So Kenneth has powers like that, too. Only.more subtly. I'm done yapping, on with the 'fic!  
  
Of course, if you send me feedback, good or bad(as long as its intelligent) I shall love you forever! ^_^ Onwards!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Copping A Feeling - Chapter Two  
  
  
  
[mistakes that last]  
  
  
  
  
  
"We ask that you extend to him the same respect that was granted each of you." Professor X arched his fingers under his nose as he leaned his elbows forward and considered each of the mutants in front of him. They were all there save Rogue, and all standing at attention, each equipped with different abilities and stories, personalities and reasonings. To mix such power together into a confined area. . . what would it take to make this experiment explode in his very own face? One errant chemical added into this eclectic mix could do the deed, it was true.  
  
The psychic exhaled, and sat back. "That is all. Thank you for coming."  
  
Muttering and speaking softly, all the children filed out of his room and into the hallway. Children. Despite their powers and his vision, they were just *childen*.  
  
Professor X wheeled his chair around as Scott gently shut the door and turned his gaze to the bright bonfires in the cool night sky. Would this be the one? Would his new X-Man be the catalyst for something dangerous and dark?  
  
"If there is any mercy," he said, not without a touch of finality in his voice. "If there is any mercy, it will not be Kenneth."  
  
A star above the mansion seemed to blaze that much brighter, just for an instant, as if in answer.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Evan slouched against the wall with his hands in his pockets and surveyed the others as they walked out of the Professor's study. "That was *weird*. We ain't never gotten that kinda talk before 'bout some new guy."  
  
By tacit understanding, the entire group began to slow, then stop a fixed distance from the door and around a corner in the hallway. Jean pursed her lips. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Isn't it obvious?" Kurt this time. His tail flicked slowly from side to side by his ankles, and he self-consciously reached up and tugged on his hair as the group's attention fell on him. "He's a leetle. . . 'different', vun might say."  
  
Kitty, who had been until that moment fiddling with a decorative fern by phasing her fingers through it over and over, looked up. "No kidding, Blue." Phase in, phase out. In, out.  
  
"Vell, it's true!" He gestured with his furred hand and bit down on his lower lip, fang poking gently from his mouth. "And I asked you not to call me that."  
  
Scott sighed. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to trust the Professor on this one. He knows," and awkward chuckle forced its way out and into the stilted atmosphere of the hall. "Just let Kenneth come out on his own time. You know?" The group shifted, looking at each other uncomfortably as the air seemed to stale and become brittle. True. They'd let him have some space. For now.  
  
Again, as a group with no obvious sign given, they began to move out of the hallway and left the uneasy stances behind. Scott laughed. "So she calls you Blue?"  
  
A long, overdrawn, dramatic moan. "Kee-eetie!"  
  
Jean's voice. "Russian Blue? How cute!"  
  
"German! German, not Russian! Ich sprechen sie Deutch[1]!" And finally, a disgusted sounding *bamf!~*  
  
  
  
*  
  
The following day, however, the newest recruit wasn't in school, though they had made the effort to locate him. Finally, all had been given up, and Scott and Jean ate alone together at a long cafeteria bench.  
  
Scott munched idly on a carrot stick, a healthy, nutritious part of his lunch. The meal's remains lay open on the table; an apple core, a whole- wheat sandwich crust and a pile of vegetable slices. "Do you think he's sick?"  
  
Jean reached over and slipped some green pepper into her hand. Scott didn't notice. "I don't know. What's his. . . 'thing', anyway?"  
  
"Fire." He spoke as if setting people alight was a common disability.  
  
"Like. . .flames?"  
  
In the background, a senior buzzed and turned to her friends, out of notice of the two mutants. "Did you hear? The new guy's *flaming*!" Scott and Jean talked on.  
  
"Haven't even met him yet. Do you think he's still in his room?"  
  
"Who can say?" She reached over and casually stole another piece of the crisp vegetable. Delicious. Didn't he notice a thing?  
  
"And Jean," Scott said as he stood up. "You can just ask, if you wanted them."  
  
Ah. She squinted up at him, just to see his warm lopsided grin returned back onto her. So his sunglasses weren't that dark after all.  
  
Rule to boyfriends number one: Never, ever look ashamed.  
  
She laughed and grabbed his hand.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
And why did you fly  
  
did you burn  
  
can't you learn from my mistakes?  
  
I've made them all before and I know  
  
you're too close to the sun!  
  
You're too close to the sun!  
  
  
  
The music was soothing to his ears. Kenneth lay prone in his bare metal room, arms and legs flung haphazardly spreadeagle and his head pillowed on nothing more than slick steel. Yet, somehow, it didn't feel cool at all. Nothing ever did. The boy who lived as fire peeled his eyes open slowly to reveal the vaulted ceiling high above him and off to one side a window with shades drawn. A thin stripe of sunlight that had somehow scratched through the narrow gap between curtains and wall slashed across the flesh of his belly and continued on to the only other piece of furniture present besides the stereo.  
  
A potted plant.  
  
Name: Fred.  
  
Origin: the market on Fifth, bought by Professor X.  
  
Kenneth tilted his head so Fred came into greater focus and tuned the refreshing sounds out. "Hey, buddy."  
  
No answer.  
  
"I'm not imprisoned. There're some cool people here."  
  
Silence.  
  
"But what do you know?" A soft chuckle, and he turned his level, passive gaze of slanted hazel eyes to the ceiling. "You're just a plant." The music returned in full force, the rhythm reminding the boy uncomfortably of his heartbeat, and of booted feet on metal.  
  
  
  
  
  
Fini d'chapter 2.  
  
  
  
  
  
[1] I speak German! 


	3. my own summer

Soooo, here we are with another installment! ^_^ This chapter gets a little graphic with violence, so if you don't like it? Don't read it! Kenneth gets pissed and hurts some people. I promised you bloodshed, did I not? =3 Feedback is always appreciated. Archiving? Sure, but tell me, 'kay? Onwards!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Copping A Feeling  
  
Chapter Three  
  
  
  
  
  
[my own summer]  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Hey, hey!" Evan dangled his arm over the back of his chair in school, and grinned casually at the newest arrival to the classroom: Kenneth. "Look who finally decided t'show!"  
  
It was a bright morning, too bright for Ken's taste, and he winced slightly at the noise and lights of his first class: mathematics. It would have been fun, if the classroom was empty. No people, and Kenneth might've enjoyed his favorite subject.  
  
Under his arm, as the boy carefully threaded his way around the back of the class to his seat behind Evan, was a gray laptop computer. A pair of gloves drooped out of his back pocket, and his clothes were identical to yesterday's. Identical in fact, to the day before that, and the day before that. Just a button up shirt(untucked) and black pants. Evan raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You know, dude, we do have washers."  
  
Ken shifted uncomfortably before pulling out the metal chair and plopping down in it, completely ignoring the other boy and the rest of the children in the classroom.  
  
At least the floor wasn't some cheap kind of faux-stone, or he wouldn't have entered the school for his first day. Footprints that his boots left were so hot that even bacteria were scoured clean. Any organic material didn't stand a chance.  
  
Evan tilted backward in his chair and frowned. "Hey! I'm talking to you!" The black boy wagged a finger in front on Kenneth's nose, who merely looked nonplussed, and returned to staring at his boots, tuning the noise out as Evan prattled on.  
  
If he was lucky, he would get through one day without hurting someone.  
  
-flashback-  
  
"Kenneth, you must return to school." Professor X sat behind his expanse of a desk, elbows on the surface and cold eyes on the boy who stood before him.  
  
Ken shifted from foot to foot nervously, uncomfortable. Through the curtain of blonde shaggy hair that dangled down in his face, the young mutant could just make out the stern expression on the older man's face. When he spoke, his lips seemed to stifle his words and mumble everything.  
  
". . .don't want to go."  
  
*Please don't make me go, Professor. Please!*  
  
He was tired of hurting people. He liked being in his room and listening to music. It was safe there, *other* people were safe when Kenneth was tucked within that metal cocoon.  
  
"Sometimes, we must do what must be done, and not what is in our desires."  
  
He nodded resignedly. The Professor was right, of course, it was simply ridiculous to pretend he could live out his life in a metal cage. But, why couldn't he? People hated mutants.  
  
*Why am I being pushed out into the middle of it, then?* He wouldn't fight. He'd just leave them alone.  
  
Tears of frustration beaded behind his eyes, and in the hot light of the setting sun through the massive bay window, Kenneth could almost pretend it was the sun that burned them away, and not his own blazing skin.  
  
  
  
-end flashback-  
  
  
  
Absently, he reached up and passed the back of his pale hand across his eyelids, obliterating any moisture there with a quiet hiss of evaporation. At the front of the room the teacher droned on about co-efficients and fractional denominators, but his mind was elsewhere though his laptop was open.  
  
Evan glanced back suspiciously at the new kid every so often. Untrustworthy. That kid was untrustworthy. Too quiet, for one thing; too noticeable for another. He hadn't seemed to notice the attention attracted by his presence this morning-new kids were common targets for 'freshing'. Evan, too, tuned out the irritating buzz of the teacher and gnawed thoughtfully on the end of a pencil. How would this kid handle something like that? Perhaps Evan ought to sick around to protect him, just in case.  
  
He snapped back to attention as the teacher called his name, and tipped his chair back to a proper position. Oh, jeeze, what was the question again?  
  
"Uhm. . . ."  
  
The answer could have come from God, as welcome as it was, instead of from a whisper behind him and the abrupt halt to clicking keys. Kenneth leaned forward imperceptibly and murmured a word with scarcely moving lips.  
  
Evan blinked. "Uh,. . . forty-two!"  
  
The teacher dropped her chalk in amazement and blinked several times at the hopeful-looking black boy. Evan never paid any attention in her class, but to finally see results! She smiled widely and picked another piece of chalk from the tray.  
  
"Very good, Evan! Now, can anyone explain to the class how he came up with that answer?"  
  
He twisted around in his seat to face Kenneth. "Hey, thanks." He grinned quietly. "Saved my back, man. Sweet deal." The classroom had already returned to its low level of noise and hubub, so Evan had no fear of being reprimanded.  
  
The only response was a raising of the obviously-amused hazel eyes, and a slightly smug grin in return. After a moment, the clicking returned, and Kenneth dropped Evan's gaze. He turned back around in his seat and picked up the pencil again, twirling it mindlessly through his fingers, perusing. Maybe Ken wasn't such a bad guy after all.  
  
"Hey, you. Eighteen point six."  
  
He snapped to attention with a spastic jerk and spit out the number, consciousness just barely catching up with his mouth enough to inform him that he'd been asked another question and Kenneth had given him the answer yet again.  
  
"EX-cellent, Evan!" Her cheeks glowed a ruddy pink as the teacher marked. "Right again!" Really, she thought, as she assembled several papers with an enthusiastic snap of the wrist. What a pleasant surprise to see Evan finally focusing his mind on the task!  
  
  
  
*  
  
The day was finally over, and Kenneth sighed in relief. One day down, four more to go until the weekend. Perfect. Perfect Hell.  
  
Nonetheless, he began to pull all of his things from his last class, French, together in the empty classroom. Tonight was his turn to help with dinner, and he wanted some time alone. Metal desks stood in formal lines down the room, and posters colored the walls with various phrases. Kenneth glanced up at them and offered a listless smile to the photo of a duckling cuddling with a full grown sleeping cat.  
  
_Sois prudent! Ferme ton bec!_ [1]  
  
"No kidding," he murmured, and slung the laptop under his arm. "A lesson most people need." The lanky youth stepped delicately through the rows and rows of desks, setting down his feet precisely to minimize contact with any object in the room. When he finally reached the door and the relative open space of the marble hallways, Ken breathed a sigh of relief. Coast clear!  
  
For a minute there, he had almost been afraid that those seniors at lunch were serious about their threats. Why were they after him, anyway? No one cared if there was someone new, not if they were mature.  
  
Why would members of the football team want to pound his face into the ground?  
  
He tapped his fingers in the doorframe for a moment, scorching fingerprints into the paint as he thought, and drew a blank. The boy shrugged and moved onwards. Someone wanted to kill him for some reason or another. Why was he surprised?  
  
"So they're idiots."  
  
Big deal.  
  
"Morons."  
  
Who cared?  
  
"Meat heads!"  
  
That was true!  
  
"Jackasses!"  
  
He was almost having fun now! He took a little hop in the abandoned hallway, grinning from ear to ear the smile that had been begging to escape all day but he'd been too nervous to show. He even laughed out loud. Hop, shuffle, groove; all the ants in his pants were shaken out from the long day of tense behavior around so many unfamiliar people!  
  
"They couldn't sit the right way on a toilet sea-hey!"  
  
A meaty hand darted out unbelievably fast from between a group of lockers and snagged a hold of his backpack, jerking the boy around and causing him to drop the laptop. The good mood evaporated as fast as water on a burning desert highway at noon, replaced by a serious, glowering countenance.  
  
"So, we're idiots, huh?" The tallest of the seniors, a beefy one with arms the size of Ken's legs cracked his knuckles and glared out from under heavy eyebrows and red hair as his minions fanned out behind him and surrounded Kenneth. "Morons, jack asses, and.. . .what else?"  
  
Another spoke up. "Meat heads, Tom."  
  
Tom smiled cruelly. "Oh right. *Meat heads*."  
  
Oh, God, what now? Did they really think they could touch him? Kenneth scoffed, and leaned down to pick up his computer. Tom roared.  
  
"DON'T TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!" That was the signal. The one who had spoken before reached for Kenneth, who darted to the side, almost directly into the grip of the third who smiled grimly.  
  
"'Getcher ass back here, Kenny-boy!" Malice dripped from his voice like poison from a snake's fang as he advanced on the blonde in the hallway, arms spread in case he tried the same trick again. "You need a little straightening out!" Kenneth began to back up, aware there was a set of lockers behind him.  
  
"Look, you really don't want to touch me."  
  
He'd burn them alive.  
  
"Oh, really?" Advancing ever closer, until Ken thought he might feel their breath upon his face. His heels bumped into the metal of the lockers, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He'd burn them alive until the hallway stunk with burning flesh and hair! Until their eyes rolled back in their heads and they begged him for mercy! They were just like those police officers! Their hair would blacken and curl, their flesh would shrivel and their tortured shrieks would bloody their throats as they were cooked alive.  
  
"Leave me alone!" Raised his hands in front of his face, teeth gritted and waiting for the blow. It finally came, and the howl of pain the resulted nearly shook the school on its foundations. Ken's ears rang as Tom stumbled backwards from him, holding his blackened and blistering hand, sticky and slick from the horrendous damage dolled out to it gingerly against his massive chest, heaving with exertion. The other seniors looked on in shock. Kenneth bared his teeth.  
  
"I said," Now it was his turn to advance. "Don't! Touch! ME!" It was hard to believe that so much heat could radiate from his lithe body in such powerful waves. Fake plants used to decorate the hallways drooped in a mockery of wilting as he stalked in their direction. A hot wind whistled and rattled papers on the bulletin boards.  
  
"GET OUT!"  
  
Kenneth flung his hands forward at them, and a jet of flame arced out from between his palms, licking briefly at their feet and scattering them in a panicked run. Only Tom remained with his stinking, bubbling hand. He whimpered as Kenneth approached, and scuttled backwards over the shiny tile floor until his back bumped up against the opposite wall.  
  
"Why." It was an icy hiss from between Ken's teeth. The gentle, amused eyes from the morning in math class were gone, replaced by dark holes of firing sparks. Why did they *do* this to themselves? Why force him to hurt them like this?!  
  
For a moment, Kenneth caught himself thinking piteously: I didn't want to hurt you!  
  
WHY?  
  
Tom drew in a shaky breath. "F-Flaming."  
  
Flaming? It didn't make any sense! No, wait. . . Kenneth stared. "Flaming? You thought I was *gay*, so you decided to kill me?" What the Hell?  
  
Reluctantly, Tom nodded his head fearfully. His breath shook from between his teeth and blood trickled down from his injured hand.  
  
Kenneth growled for a moment, ignoring the injured boy and turning his thoughts inward. "Who. Who did you hear this from?" Who had spread this rumor? Who had even known he was coming to this school?  
  
"M-Mirand-da."  
  
Miranda. Kenneth turned away and waved his hand. "Get out of here." There was a frantic scuffling as Tom scrabbled to obey his command, but the mutant raised his hand again. All sound ceased. "But first. . .get to a hospital. There's a chance they might save your hand."  
  
A strangled sob followed the mutant as he stepped down the hallway and out of the school. It was sunset again, but there was no pretending that it wasn't him who burned.  
  
One day down, three to go.  
  
  
  
  
  
FINI CHAPTER THREE  
  
  
  
[1] Literally: Be prudent! Shut your beak!  
  
What It Really Means: Think about the situation and THEN speak!]  
  
  
  
BONUS! ^^; Checkitout, a picture of Kenneth. http://dark_thi3f.tripod.com/omake/kenneth.jpg 


	4. bird's eye view

;_; God, this took so long to write. For some reason I wanted certain scenes to fit into the next bit, so they took me forever! Also, I was listening to a lot of Deftones and Dir En Grey during this, so it might be a little more violent and harsh than I wanted.  
  
Ah, well. My story. :d  
  
^_^ Feeeeeeeeeeedback?  
  
  
  
Onwards!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Copping A Feeling  
  
Chapter Four  
  
[bird's eye view]  
  
  
  
The newswoman blankly smiled at the camera and shuffled papers on her desk.  
  
"And now for local matters. There have been no suspects identified as of late in the mystery of the local football captain's injuries. Despite the youth's insistence that the burns suffered were merely an electrical accident, physicians are not convinced that extensive nerve damage could be caused by, as the youth claims, free wires in Shop. Police are requesting that anyone-"  
  
Kurt groaned and lifted the remote to the television, preparing to flip the channel to something a little more interesting. Of course, interesting was merely in the eye of the discriminate beholder, one who vastly preferred the animated high jinks of ReBoot to a dreary monologue of county woes and political plots. At least, to this particular blue furred beholder.  
  
"And *zat* takes care of you!" He bared fangs at the television in a pointy grin and kicked his legs over the end, completely prepared to waste an evening in front of the television. The mutant was not to be disappointed as Matrix and AndrAIa appeared on the screen.  
  
The sprite batted her eyes and rested a slender hand gently on a green one's shoulder, chastising. "Oh, Matrix, you shouldn't be so jealous!"  
  
Matrix, at least, had the sense to be ashamed. His thickly muscled shoulders slumped as he slung Gun away and reached out a hand to cover the other sprite's with his own.  
  
"I-I'm sorry, AndrAIa, I don't know what came over me."  
  
Kurt's tail flicked in amusement, the spade pat-patting on the carpet beside him. God, AndrAIa was a babe. And why did that stupid green oaf have to be so disrespectful towards her?! Kurt bared his teeth again at the television, completely blotting from his mind the presence of an irritating reality, one where *he* couldn't have the girl that *he* wanted.  
  
Damn, Matrix, then, to Silicon Heaven, or wherever the Hell game sprites went.  
  
As footsteps sounded briefly outside the door, he guiltily flicked the television back to the news, not sure exactly *why* he was so hesitant. Rogue stuck her head through the doorway to regard the German sprawled out across the long couch, and he almost thought he could see a knowing smile tugging at her lips.  
  
Damn her, too, then. he thought as his long toes twitched involuntarily.  
  
"Ach, Rogue. I didn't know you had returned from ze art seminar."  
  
She had been missing a week, thus absent from Kenneth's dramatic entrance and the mystery of Tom's hand fried like a Hawaiian shish-kabob, supposedly after he had laid a hold of a few bare wires in the Electronics lab at Bayville High. Kurt Wagner found it somewhat difficult to conjure sympathy for the meat-head of a boy. He was a real jewel, in his opinion.  
  
He turned off the TV. "So you know about Mr. Cranky-Pants?"  
  
The girl sauntered across the floor towards the couch, and, getting there, unceremoniously dumped his long blue feet off the side to provide herself with some space on the cushions. "Who?" she asked, and rolled brown eyes as Kurt simply plopped the feet up into her lap. "You mean the new kid? He's not cranky."  
  
Kurt suddenly found something fascinating in the couch's upholstry, and picked at it with a claw.  
  
". . .Not *that* cranky."  
  
Just brilliant, this little piece of fuzz that kept him from looking Rogue in the eyes.  
  
Rogue exploded. "He could be worse! What if he were Logan-cranky?"  
  
Wagner scratched his head ruefully, finally conceding defeat, and rolled back over so they could look face to face. "Vell, . . vell, ja." One couldn't beat that logic. Wolverine was the only mutant that even Kurt's titanium cheerfulness and joking behavior bent before. Shredded, more likely, by a pair of adamanium retractable claws. He sweatdropped.  
  
"Hah." She said, triumphant, and picked the remote from his hand. "My turn to watch." The news magically sprung to life on the television again, and the two teens fell silent, lost in it's flickering light.  
  
Just another night in the Institute  
  
  
  
*  
  
The next morning, the entire kitchen was surprised as Kenneth rolled around, groggy and bleary. He stumbled through the kitchen, fully dressed in(what else?) the same clothes as yesterday and the day before and every *other* day they had seen him, including the day he was rescued, and he scrubbed a hand over his face.  
  
The collection of mutants stared in mute shock at the creature they had previously never seen before eight o' clock of any kind of a.m.  
  
"Coffee," he gargled, and leaned his elbows on the marble countertop. Kitty, who had been dumping a portion of eggs onto the plate of an equally stunned Jean, dropped her spatula to vacate the contents on the floor. The spell broke with the sudden ecstatic urgency of a dam breaking freezing, glacier-cold spring water onto a helpless, quaint mountain village, and the normal chatter started up all over again. Forced. They *would*, dammit, show Ken he was welcome here.  
  
Scott, with his granola and undone homework spread out in glorious array before him.  
  
Logan, glowering with his sausages and morning paper  
  
Kurt, with his triple bowl of Frosted Flakes, chattering happily to anyone who paid long enough attention to recognize his existence.  
  
Evan, slurping a mold-colored shake of a bizarre variety, gear already on and helmet dangling from his belt loop.  
  
Jean and Rogue, each with a bowl of yogurt to replace the lost eggs, staring out the window.  
  
Finally, Kitty who sat opposite Kurt and gnawed absently at a breakfast bar as the elf prattled on. It was completely normal chaos, everyone avoiding a certain fact that glared.  
  
Finally, Jean spoke as the voice of the collective group, expressing what they all, quietly, burned to know. "Kenneth," She paused to let him look up. He blinked twice. She took it as a positive sign. "Kenneth, if you. . . if you need money for, for basic supplies. . . "  
  
*Clothes!* they screamed silently as one. No one raised their head, and even Logan rattled his paper defensively.  
  
"We're sure the Professor would be more than happy to provide you with them." She finished off lamely as she saw the blank look in the boy's eyes. It took a moment for him to piece it together, but it crystallized into a hard sparkle of understanding. His face cracked.  
  
"My clothes!" He couldn't decide if this was hurtful or funny! Kenneth cackled quietly and added another tablespoon of sweeter to the cup he had acquired.  
  
*Well, duh.* the room responded, though no one answered.  
  
Jean swirled the yogurt with her spoon carefully, as if the fate of Ken and the strawberry flavoring were intertwined somehow. "About your clothes. . . " She failed utterly. Something deep within Jean stopped her from voicing any offensive concern. Her desire to prove diplomatic was an overriding command, even at the expense of curiosity.  
  
"You don't stink." Said Evan bluntly, putting a timely end to the hook of indistinct tension they were skewering slowly on. The blonde smiled painfully.  
  
"Uh, thanks?"  
  
"No, man. You *don't* *stink*. After, like, a week with the same clothes and no washing. You ain't rank. 'Scool."  
  
Jean interjected quickly to Kenneth who looked on in slight bewilderment, still desperate to re-establish social skills at the head of this conversation. "What he means is-"  
  
"What I mean is he don't stink!" Retorted Evan, going head to head with the terminally tactful Jean, who glared back with the ferocity of Scott's laser beams.  
  
"You *mean* he don't-I mean, he *doesn't*-change his clothes! You don't just tell people that they-"  
  
Kenneth dropped his empty cup into the sink with a loud clatter, and the two jerked their heads to gaze at him in surprise. "I don't stink. Evan, you're right. Jean, I won't explode if you ask me why. The reason is I burn off any foreign matter, dirt, while I sleep. If I wear other clothes, they'll catch on fire or melt. The only clothes I have to wear are what's on my back right now. Buying me other stuff is a waste of money." It was the longest speech anyone present had heard the blonde, quiet mutant utter. Kurt strangled the urge to clap as Rogue raised an eyebrow.  
  
*Ah,* the room responded. *That solves everything*. One again, the room reverted to its normal state of pre-school pandemonium as people finished whatever breakfast they had been consuming and scattered throughout the mansion.  
  
"Have you seen my lip gloss?" Yelled Kitty from the outer hall.  
  
"What about my Biology?" Bellowed Scott in return. "I *can't* find it *anywhere!*"  
  
Logan exhaled noisily in annoyance in the emptied kitchen where only Kenneth, Rogue and he remained. Some idiot of a teenager had gripped the wrong leads in the lab at school and toasted his hand almost up to the elbow. Stupid teenagers. Ought to put them all in cages until common sense caught up with puberty and they didn't *do* dumb things that could cripple them for life.  
  
He snarled, and flung the newspaper back onto the tabletop. "Idiot punks."  
  
Kenneth looked up in alarm, but Rogue shook her head, motioning for silence. They quietly watched in attendance as the older mutant muttered oaths about cheese-brained half-pints and stalked off, fists clenched by his side. Kenneth swirled the remains of his second cup of coffee in the bottom of the mug, not meeting the girl's eyes as he spoke.  
  
"Is it. . . .something we did?"  
  
He didn't *think* that he had done anything wrong, unless Logan simply didn't like him. It had been known to happen, from time to time, the pre- judging of one human being by another, and Kenneth wasn't closed to the possibility. Perhaps, even, it was something he could fix, it he was going to be sharing the same roof with him for the next foreseeable future.  
  
Once again, Rogue shook her head in the negative. "Logan is always grumpy. We're not quite sure why. He won't bite, though. Uh," she paused, several events leaping to the fore of her mind. "Not usually, anyway." Kenneth paled slightly. "It's probably just something he read in the paper."  
  
He relaxed and nodded his head in agreement. "Isn't that enough to make anyone go spastic?" Very faintly, she could see, he was grinning, and trying not to let it show. Rogue opened her mouth to tell him to smile more often, when he quickly wiped his mouth with his hand, smearing the expression into a blank, expressionless slate. Puzzled, she stood up and dropped her spoon back into the bowl.  
  
"Yeah, totally." Time for school anyway. "Maybe I'll see you at lunch." Unlikely. The school was a juggernaut of a building, and the chances of either touch-aversioned mutant bumping into each other in the confusion of the hallways was slimmer than the chances of her sitting down with the cheerleading team for a serious discussion on facial toners.  
  
In other words, about nil.  
  
Kenneth, though, nodded and continued swirling his mug, staring down into it into the depths. "Maybe."  
  
Weird.  
  
Anyway, Rogue had school. The darkly-clothed teen spun out the door and sprinted down the hallway towards where Scott and the others were preparing to drive this morning. Kenneth, finally, remained alone in the kitchen. After a moment, he abruptly tilted back his head and swallowed the remainder of coffee. It was still near-boiling, and anyone else couldn't possibly have even held it inside their mouth. Temperature didn't matter to Ken in the least. Glacial, molten-lava, his body stayed at a constant flesh- searing blaze that had never changed in sickness, health or in sleep.  
  
His expression changed, however, as his eyes lit a spark of curiosity as to what caused Logan to discard the paper so callously. Gripping a fork in one hand, Ken stalked around the table, and began to flip through the sections of the newspaper. He skipped the Entertainment and the Sports pages. Logan didn't strike him as either a serious baseball or Garfield fan.  
  
International, then.  
  
Nothing. Standard wars, standard fights, standard trade disagreements. Kenneth couldn't find anything desperately thrilling there.  
  
The young mutant turned the entire paper over awkwardly in the silence, papers rustling loudly, to local matters. What had Logan muttered as he left?  
  
_"Cheese-brained punks."_  
  
"Ah," the boy said, realization dawning as a familiar article came into view. _Local Teen Burned In Lab Mishap_. It hadn't been a mishap, it had been Kenneth defending his life! Couldn't he get in trouble for this again, just like with the police officers before. Just like before he hadn't wanted to hurt Tom, but his hand was forced into action.  
  
He smiled grimly at his own pun and leaned down to the article.  
  
His lips moved as his passive eyes scanned the sheet in front of him as he intoned. ". . . Culprits sought. Police action will ensue."  
  
Police action will ensue the murder of young Kei Scott, found burnt in his family home by his father returning home from work. Culprits sought are suspected to be genetic mutants, police actions will ensue.  
  
The paper blackened at the corners and started to curl inwards, like a beetle trying to defend delicate organs from the searing heat of the sun. Kenneth's breath hissed through his perfect, square teeth, eyes narrowed to slits as he forcibly took a hold of his heart beat.  
  
Slow down.  
  
His breath began to cool, and the paper stopped its motions.  
  
No one will blame you here.  
  
No one would have blamed him then, either.  
  
Slow down!  
  
Or what? So they can hurt you again? Stick you in a cage and see what makes you tick, Kenny-boy? Do you need some more straightening out?  
  
It was like his father was bent over him again, and hissing words into his ear, driving his point home with all the subtlety of a knife thrust. With an audible gasp the boy stumbled back from the table, hands clenching at his temples and eyes squeezing shut. "I. . .didn't mean it!" Nothing answered him but the harsh breathing originating from a fusion-hot point somewhere deep within his chest. The linolium warped in the sudden onslaught of voracious, consuming heat. "It wasn't me!" It hadn't been him! He wouldn't be caught again! The boy ripped himself away from the counter and forced his feet to stand by the table, and gazed down on the fateful words. Not again.  
  
It was utterly dream-like the way his hand freed itself from the fist it had formed and his clean, bare skin, so pale, so delicate looking, rested over the article. He hesitated only a moment before smoke billowed around his ears and caused his eyes to sting.  
  
He needed the sting.  
  
Kenneth leaned forward and traced his fingertips ever so lightly over the text, obliterating it from existence, destroying the hated link between him and the week before. He had never, ever wanted to hurt anyone. Ever.  
  
  
  
*  
  
"Dammit, hurry up, then!"  
  
"I'm sorry already, jeeze!" Rogue cried as she dropped from the jeep and started to dash towards the mansion for her forgotten history homework. Now, everyone could be late because of her and that stupid, stupid project! "Too bad we can't just port like Kurt." That would have simplified everything a great deal.  
  
Come to think of it, why couldn't have Kurt just ported into the mansion himself to get it? "Ngggh!" She groaned as she heaved the massive front door open and sprinted for the living room. As she returned, Rogue sniffed lightly and smelled. . . smoke? Her quick footsteps slowed and changed gradually into a padding, silent stalk as she vectored her way to the origin. Voices. No, a single voice. Ken's?  
  
As she peeped her head around the doorframe, her eyes widened abruptly. Kenneth stood over the morning paper, his eyes a pair of mere knife slits, his mouth a bloodless, tight slash and bare skin touching the paper. It was crumbling to ash, just as the linolium swirled in the heat. Should she say something?  
  
Yes. Ask what was wrong. What was so disturbing in that newspaper, anyway?  
  
Abruptly, just as she readied herself to meet him, he turned away and stalked from the opposite door. He left the entire mess behind him. Rogue sneaked to the platform and looked down, frowning as she saw nearly the entire thing was illegible. One part remained, though, so she bent over it for a closer examination.  
  
_. . . Teen Burned in Lab Mishap._  
  
Returning footsteps. Not sure of what all this meant, Rogue stepped back and out the door. Something. . .something was up. She just wasn't sure what, and how it was connected.  
  
  
  
*  
  
Spencer grunted as Aarik's thickly muscled thigh crushed against his diaphragm and forced the air to exit his lungs. The boy's throat burned as he collapsed onto the street as stomach acid clawed up his esophagus. He hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself by being sick right here and now.  
  
Tom stood up and away from the prone boy as his cronies did their work, setting about bruising without breaking the skin. Gloves, the redhead growled as they advanced on Spencer. Don't forget your friggin' gloves. He felt a sense of triumph and power now that had been missing since that bizarre fruit had hurt his hand somehow. It felt nice, then. Why Spencer? Why not? He had been their off and on target for bloodless beatings ever since the year had begun.  
  
"Alright, that's enough!" he called, and raised his hand. Aarik and the other boy, Bryan, reluctantly backed off Spencer's form. Bryan cracked his knuckles loudly.  
  
"We done, Tom?"  
  
Tom shook his head in answer. "Not nearly." Looking at Spencer now, the brain, the smart little shit that was so goddamned *smug* about his perfect grades and his pretty girlfriend laying groaning on the cold fall pavement gave Tom a warm, cozy feeling.  
  
*See?* He thought, memories darting back to the lithe Ken who =somehow= scattered him and his boys. *Fuckin' little prick.* Each time they harassed and tortured, Tom could see Kenneth in their faces, each cry of pain was Kenneth begging him for mercy. He was paying Ken back in spades, you see, humiliation for humiliation. He flexed and clenched his bandaged hand as he advanced on Spencer.  
  
Spencer blearily raised his head as Tom's thick foot appeared in front of it. What had he done? It had been weeks since the last time. His fingers curled and scratched at the cement ineffectually. They were bigger, they were stronger and they hated him. Tears iced their way down his cheeks to mix with a few specks of blood. Tom's boys, apparently, had been a little too enthusiastic. The foot moved to where Spencer's glasses lay clutched in his hand and rested gently on top of it.  
  
*Oh, God, no, no the glasses!* screamed Spencer silently.  
  
*A hand for a friggin' hand, Kenneth!* roared Tom.  
  
He began to step down. A keening whine of pain slipped from between Spencer's clenched teeth, more tears flowing freely as the pressure increased and metal and glass began to bend. When it shattered, he just hoped that was when they might let him go to limp home. He would treat his hand and pick out the flecks of glass, tell his mom everything was fine.  
  
Spencer couldn't tell her about this.  
  
*Mom couldn't handle it.*  
  
Not since dad died.  
  
Spencer was the only man in the house. He had to take care of his mom. He had to take the pain, like a man. He had to be strong.  
  
Tom grinned down at the boy who said nothing as the glasses began to shatter into his flesh, and tears streamed down his face.  
  
How pathetic! He was crying like a baby! You would never see that from Tom, no sir!  
  
"Excuse me,"  
  
The same familiar voice. Tom abandoned his victim and spun around to see Kenneth standing a few feet away, gloved hand resting gently on the trunk of a tree and the ever-present laptop under his arm. He looked politely concerned. Tom looked like he had just seen a chair dance the Macarena. Fear is a poison plant that stems from rage, and Tom wasted no time in following it down to the root.  
  
"K-Kenneth!" Abruptly, his injured hand began to throb as the blonde carefully stepped off the stone bench and onto the walkway behind the school, where all five of them were. Five? Tom's head whipped from one side to the other. Aarik and Bryan were nowhere to be seen.  
  
Ken smiled and spread his hand. "So you see, we're all alone here."  
  
Tom's knees gave way with the suddenness of a viper's strike.  
  
  
  
*  
  
Unbeknownst to Kenneth and Tom, they had an audience. Spencer slowly began to push himself to his hands and knees, and curled his bloody hand to his belly where it stained his white shirt a vibrant, primal red. He didn't know who this weirdo was, but he wasn't going to argue with luck. Still shaking like a blade of grass in the wind, Spencer grabbed his satchel and hauled it onto his shoulder until he was stopped by that same gentle voice.  
  
"You weren't bothering my friend here, were you, Tom?"  
  
Friend? Spencer had never seen that punk before in his life. Ignoring the conversation, he began to stagger upright 'til he heard the answer.  
  
"N-No!"  
  
That stopped him cold. No? What a liar! The lanky pretty-boy had just walked in him getting his shit re-arranged, and he would believe Tom?!  
  
Kenneth smiled faintly, and waved his hand vaguely to the autumn trees. "Good. You know how I hate you to be a *bully*, Tom. You know that, don't you?"  
  
Tom nodded, head flapping back and forth like a puppet, and Spencer slowed down to watch in amazement.  
  
"I love the trees, don't you?" He continued, not waiting for an answer. "They look like they're. . . on fire." Another smile. "Anyway, please don't bother my friend here again, Tom. I wouldn't like it. Understand?"  
  
More mindless agreement.  
  
"And walk him home. I don't want to *think* about the kind of people on the streets. Go." Tom turned and began to scramble for the scattered papers and books he had knocked himself from Spencer's grasp. Spencer couldn't believe this was happening. He just nodded faintly and stumbled home, supported by the strong arm of his attacker.  
  
Kenneth's calm, stone eyes of brown-on-green pierced into his back.  
  
  
  
*  
  
"Holy shit," breathed Rogue, and pulled back the branch she hid behind. It was obvious now. Kenneth had burned Tom and attempted to hide his own guilt this morning. He wasn't hot, he was *cold*. That was serious mafioso work the teen was pulling off. For what? Protection? Money? Power? She stepped out from her hiding place and snatched a stone from the ground littered with leaves.  
  
"KENNETH!"  
  
And hauled back her arm and threw with all her strength. Kenneth jerked and turned around. It landed a metre to the right.  
  
"Just *wait* 'til the Professor finds out what a viper you are!"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
. . . fini chapter four. 


End file.
